Bobby Fischer, who died yesterday at 64 after decades of hermit-like reclu siveness, was blessed by the chess gods – the sole American to win the game’s world championship – but ultimately consumed by his own demons.

Recall the excitement that consumed this country as Fischer battled Boris Spassky in 1972 for the world title: Millions were transfixed as broadcast analysts scrutinized each move as it was made and debated possible outcomes.

Incredibly, Fischer came back from a 2-0 deficit – unheard of in championship chess – to trounce the Russian in what was seen as a surrogate Cold War battle.

And thanks to Fischer – reared in Brooklyn, a dropout from Erasmus Hall HS who got his real education at Manhattan’s Marshall Chess Club – chess suddenly became the coolest game in town.

But there was something not quite right about Fischer. A prodigy (at 15, he became the youngest-ever international grandmaster), he’d declared that “the object is to crush the other man’s mind.” The bombast was part psych-out – but also a sign of a disturbed personality.

Fischer withdrew from public life, ultimately forfeiting his title. (He re-emerged in 1992 to play a re-match with Spassky in war-torn Yugoslavia.) He finally settled in Iceland, site of his championship match.

And he slipped into paranoia, ranting to radio interviewers and his few remaining friends that he was being targeted by an international Jewish conspiracy. (Ironically, his mother was Jewish.)

Sadly, Fischer’s eccentric behavior and hate-filled tirades came to overshadow his chess. But he should be remembered as one of the most gifted players ever – and a most unlikely national hero.